


i'll promise you anything (for another shot in life)

by lylacs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Affection, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Violence, dark themes, it's a damn au okay, on jason and tim, timkon is only implied sadly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 21:18:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6441178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lylacs/pseuds/lylacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been there from the start, in the form of memories, mostly, lost chances, possibilities, fading emotions. It's probably what makes the Wayne Manor as it is now. The weight of what was once there attaching itself and spreading across the whole place.</p><p>Or</p><p>A fic about Jason and Tim as brothers. Brothers that bond with their somewhat (stress on the somewhat) similar circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll promise you anything (for another shot in life)

**Author's Note:**

> Because I'm certified Tim and Jason Trash, and I heard Youth by Daughter (quite a long time ago, when my best friend linked it to me), which is now the basis for this fic, I thought, hey, why not make an AU about this, centered around Tim and Jason, in the latter's perspective (because I relate to the Red Hood on a much larger scale compared to the rest of the batfam)? Also, this fic is basically a representative of my frustrations with what the New 52 has done to my poor Timmy.
> 
> I didn't want to hint a lot from the tags, so it's pretty vague, like the summary. In any case, I don't actually know what universe or story arc I set this in, I literally just went with the flow with all my knowledge on New 52 and pre-reboot, but it'd be much better if you took this universe out of the context with the canon one, or just, you know, be aware that all the deaths that happened in the entire DC universe (for the batfamily) actually happened, since that's the only clear reference I made upon writing this (which, for the record, took me like, three weeks to a month to write just because I had to prioritize schoolwork).
> 
> Anyways~ I hope you enjoy (i'm relatively young compared to most in this fandom, so please bear with me!)

The manor is quiet in a way that shouldn’t be, which is immediately odd, because this is the _Wayne Manor_. Silence has a free pass through every corner of the mansion, so it’s a freeloading guest.

Jason supposes he doesn't have a real say in that though, since he hasn't been in the house for a long time (ten months, two weeks, three days – but who's counting), but, still. There's something gloomy about the place in a way that is more than Batman’s doing.

He's confident that everyone is asleep, save for Batman, most likely, because he's Bruce, but he knows that they know he's here. Otherwise they wouldn't have let him pass all that security (not that he couldn't enter without their help – it just, makes things easier). His old room, that Alfred, to this day, still tidies up in the way Jason always used to ask him to, is something he wants to avoid staying in for as long as possible, so he decides to explore the house. It could be because he's trying to bring back that old sense of warmth and hearth he felt back then before the Lazarus Pit and during those rare Christmas’ and New Years’ they'd spend together as a family, or not. Whatever the reason though, Jason knows this will take a while.

The room that Jason reaches makes him vaguely remember how there was much more life in this section of the house, even though it was just a little. He can't name it on his tongue at first, but eventually realizes that it's because he used to always hear something – soft, but still somewhat clear through the thick walls – when he passed by the hallway.

Curious to expand his memory further, he enters the room, which is, surprisingly, unlocked and lacking in security. It's probably the most normal room he's ever seen, second to everyone bedrooms (and by _normal_ , Jason is talking about _innocent_ normal, as in no lingering paranoia in Batman for him to set up a camera in the room or something. Nothing in this house is _really_ normal, especially because it's a Wayne’s).

The room is as big as the recreational room and their library, with the trademark humongous, wall-sized windows and a big shelf full of books on the other side. There's a sofa sitting in front of the shelf, with a carpet lying beneath and a coffee table, the cushion being the same velvet violet, which is common in the house. Sitting right in the side though, is a black piano, the cover being draped over by a long flimsy cloth. _Oh_ , Jason realizes. _It's a music room_.

The room looks awfully clean, despite it being obviously unused for a while, which shouldn't be strange, considering that Alfred keeps lots of places clean despite them being nearly worthless for so long. It's probably a sentimental butler thing. At least Alfred isn't emotionally dead like Bruce is. But the room feels tense, more dark and gloomy than even the attic, and it doesn't settle well with him.

Jason sees that the books displayed aren't the kind of normal ones seen in the other parts of the mansion. These are clearly music books, holding pieces of different songs, inked with numerous lines that have circles with lines either on the lines or around it. _Notes_ , Jason thinks it's called. He isn't totally dumb, but then, he isn’t even sure if he's right. Just because he knows a bit of the instrument doesn't mean he really knows how it completely works.

He doesn't grab any of the books, deciding to just put them back, and he makes his way towards the piano, throwing the cloth on the floor and lifting the case that covers the clean and dustless keys of black and white that he meets. He wonders if this has anything to do with why the fuck the place is so quiet and depressing when it's supposed to be full of melodies and harmonies and all that musical shit.

He only realizes it when he ghosts his fingers on the keys gently that there were once melodies that echoed around the room, that somehow were strong enough to reach even the hallway, beyond the walls. And those sounds were beautiful, brought a kind of light that wasn't often seen to them, like a sun that isn't so painful to look at, but this time, it's _listening_ rather than _seeing_. He can almost feel a shadow, a transparent figure sitting on the middle of the stool, resting fingers and feelings on the white and black keys that press down at the same time in different forms. Like a ghost of a good memory, the presence of a lingering soul.

It's not Dick who left the place so happy to the sad state – _sadder_ , Jason corrects himself – it is in now, and it isn't Damian either, shockingly. Steph and Cass have never been ones to bring things to such depression, because they're part of the bright side of things, though only on half a scale of completely. So it doesn't take much for Jason to put two and two together and piece things out enough to figure out that–

Jason closes the lid and flings the dirty white cloth on the piano messily and walks away, slamming the door so hard that would've woken the whole house up if he cared enough.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Jason stares at the ground and Tim does nothing but smile. It's a Red Robin smile, not the Tim one, since this one lacks teeth and has _way_ too much amusement. It's a thing for Robins to have their own signature emotion in their special smiles. Dick has one full of sincerity, Jason has so much confidence (which sometimes becomes his utter downfall, but, you know, since when does he really learn?), Damian’s is full of superiority, Steph’s contains playfulness, and Tim’s smile is a smile that dances and flits around, watching and loving how things fall apart and get together back again. _It's an amused one, basically._

It also used to be the most annoying one back then, even topping _Grayson’s_. And who can top fucking Grayson anyway?

Jason guesses he should be upset about the fact that among all the graves that have been up and dug, it's his that remains the same since the start, standing proud and tall and untouched as it holds an empty coffin six feet under. Dick’s “ _body_ ” was decided to be cremated after the funeral, burning the body of a corpse that has absolutely no relation to the only living Flying Grayson, ashes put in a case that is kept somewhere in Alfred’s careful hands, and Damian’s casket was stolen by Ra’s (though Bruce claimed to the media that he had it transferred to a relative, which is true on many levels), leaving a big hole in the ground that once possessed his coffin, the ground about to be covered in soil and dirt. Bruce had never given up on the two, somehow knowing that his first ward was still alive and that his biological son would come back to life, because he needed them back. He was never like that with Jason, and the unmoved gravestone is a slap to the face that the boy will always be dead to Bruce, just because he didn't do things the way Batman did.

He's not bitter though, oddly enough. Before – _definitely_ , years ago when he was revived and out for vengeance, for being replaced, for not being loved enough. Now, he just, doesn't care. Bruce will always be the worst at sorting his feelings out, because he prefers letting them be bottled up until they spill all over the place like spoiled milk. And he will always put his priorities on saving the world rather than saving his kids. It's a fact at this point. He chose Gotham over Damian, he chose keeping the Joker alive instead of killing him. For all his talk and belief on making sure that what happened to him won't happen to anyone else, he was sure doing a shit job so far. Jason kind of wants to tell that whole speech to Bruce, but first, he remembers, there's Tim.

Right. “It should start raining soon.” Jason blurts out, because if Bruce is emotionally fucked then Jason is verbally clueless. He had always been the worst Wayne to charm the media and other high-class people. It's may or not be part of the fact that Jason came from a depressing neighborhood that no one else were in. Being suspicious of the rich is basically a survival tactic for street kids.

“Really, now?” Tim says, because he's some asswipe who doesn't need anyone telling him the obvious.

“Yeah.” Jason says. “We should get going before we get wet.”

They don't leave though, even as it really starts to rain, a gentle drizzle first coming before the raindrops become heavier and louder as they hit the ground and anything they come across. Jason can feel his brown aviator jacket protecting him from the rain, but his hair is damp and the rain hits his face. Tim is dry though, somehow conjuring up an umbrella out of nowhere because he's, well, _Tim_. Jason’s pretty sure the younger boy’s Red Robin expression is still on his face.

Jason is still staring at the two graves and wonders if Bruce ever visits them. If Bruce ever visited Damian’s or Jason’s grave when they were dead, if he ever stopped now that they aren't so dead and he mostly has his family back together.

“Do you think he’ll come?” Tim asks, as if he knew that Jason was thinking about the Big Man, and he sounds. Almost small, hesitant and shy in a way that isn't Red Robin or Tim Wayne, but Tim Drake at its core, the young hopeful boy that idealized becoming Robin and always snapped pictures of his idols without regards for the dangers of doing so.

“Shouldn't _I_ be asking that?” Jason says, before knowing better, before realizing the mistake of saying that. The fact that Jason doesn't know answers Tim's question that, _no_ , Bruce will not. He will not come.

He looks at Tim, sitting on the gravestone beside Jason’s like a throne, legs crossed, perfectly balancing himself on the stone cut in half, clearly not taken care of properly. He's still smiling though, but it's a different kind of smile, almost dark and full of hilarious sadness, _idiocy_ , like when you expect for something that'll never happen, and you're a total halfwit for hoping. _Crushing disappointment_. Jason knows the feeling all too well.

“I expected as much.” Tim admits, but he sounds hollow. Jason watches as the fingers of Tim's free hand absentmindedly brush against the carvings of the words Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne on the hard material. A reminder of _who he is_ , Jason confirms. Of _who_ _he did all this_ _for_.

Jason will totally deny it if asked, but he actually misses Tim's goofy, toothy, happy smile.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Not for the first time, Jason smokes outside in the garden, when he's sure that Alfred’s closed the door to his room and no one will be bothering him anymore. The weight of the rolled paper is as light as he feels when the nicotine enters his system, though the inhalation feels as deep as when he exhales. It's an odd sense of contradictions and feelings, but it's calming, generally. _Therapeutic_ , he'd even admit, though no one would believe it. Not that he'd care anyway.

And not for the first time, Tim has an opinion about it (but like, Tim has an opinion about _everything_ ), and it isn't a very uncommon and unfamiliar one at that. “You'll get lung cancer from that. _Eventually_.” He points out.

“Wanna say something that actually matters, Replacement?” Jason suggests, taking another drag.

“I would, but,” Tim leans on the open window’s side, and Jason pretends not to sense the movement. He instead leans forward, rests his arms on the balcony’s railings, and continues smoking, staring straight ahead. The moon looks almost blue when he looks at it, and he feels like pointing it out, but he doesn't, knowing it'll give Tim another reason to comment something that'll just be insignificant. Jason likes to believe that even though he doesn't care what Tim says, he wants to keep the younger boy’s mouth shut as much as possible.

Tim doesn't really finish this sentence, which is a big deal for anyone. It's so rare to leave Tim speechless (if this is really what it's about), so Jason has to take advantage of it. Because, you know, he's _Jason_. High or not, he's still finding ways to irritate his siblings.  

“But?” Jason inquires, urging for Tim to continue his sentence, or just wanting to watch him forget his trail of thought.

“I feel like I'm drowning, like there's water in my lungs and I'm searching for air.” For such a statement, he sure doesn't look it. “Every breath hurts.” Tim says, and Jason turns to look at him. The color of his eyes looks like the color of the moon. Tim adds, “At least _you're still breathing_.”

There are two comebacks resting on the tip of his tongue, one for each explanation, a teasing and sarcastic, “ _You still feel pain?_ ” and a bitter, “ _Should I be happy about that?”_ but Jason doesn't reply anymore, knowing better, for the first time, than to retort.

At least, when his lips touch the cigarette, there's a brief moment of hesitation and uncertainty.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Jason is 100% sure that Bruce goes through that simulation of his where he recreates a situation that went totally wrong and makes his computer reset the scene for Batman to go through every day. And while Jason hates Bruce 500%, he has to admit that doing is going to kill the old man physically and mentally and he should fucking stop.

That's where the Bat-family comes in, supposedly, because they're the much more human ones, the sensible and sensitive ones that hold Bruce together and continue to be there for him for whatever goddamn reason Jason doesn't understand.

But ever since the aftermath of Damian's death, and the events that followed afterwards, the family had been everything but. Without Dick to serve as the ultimate pillar of Batman’s sanity, because, you know, of his top secret mission that by then everyone knows of by now, and Alfred slowly falling apart with each new loss – he’s still grateful about Damian’s revival, but the rush of events and the brief time period in between of loss are still too overbearing and too unfortunate – no one’s there anymore to support Bruce. Damian isn't handling things well for himself, so what more for his Father, and Cass and Steph are on an even worse state, even deciding to move _out_ of Gotham (Jason knows that's part of the reason why Bruce is brooding ten times worse than normal).

It's gone to the point where the family actually _joins_ Bruce on his simulations, and Jason's watched each of them go through it multiple times to find out what they did wrong, what they could've done and how, at the end, remember that no matter what they do in the simulation, it wouldn't change what really happened. Their disappointment is so visible that it makes Jason ache, but he doesn't subject himself to that torture to join them. He isn't that masochistic.

In each different way any of them could've been there to set things right, one idea remains constant: _they could've stayed_. They could've went and stayed and saved, but they didn't. They didn't think they had to, and it's reasonable, but it doesn't let anyone sit well. Jason feels the same in that factor, but he doesn't know if that was his mistake as well. He doesn't want to go through that all over again, knowing the real outcome, and deluding himself into thinking he could've done something. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

But he won't admit that to anyone. Anyone but Tim. For Tim, he doesn't have to. From the way Tim's looking at him, as Jason watches and replays the videos from his room, he already knows.   

 

~::~::~::~

 

Patrol feels almost normal, Jason notes. He wonders if he should be worried about that.

They're all acting as if nothing happened, like Red Robin was never gone and instead just on some Teen Titans mission and therefore wasn't able to participate in their nightly Gotham patrol. (Or, somewhere not here. But not somewhere not here _permanently_.) Just, for the moment.

Jason also notes that his appearance and participation in their patrols (along with following to their wishes) is an oddity, though it's reasonable. Red Hood was a well-known terror to all the baddies in Gotham, and not on great terms with Batman and his flock, and while that's actually an understatement, and somewhat lie, Red Hood puts that all aside for normalcy. ( _Impossible_ , he _knows_.)

They strangely let Red Hood go off on his own while some team-up and watch over the different sectors of Gotham, which is actually a big mistake, but none of them are in their right mind to care.

Batman obviously takes Robin with him, and Blackbat and Spoiler are a duo in itself, so Red Hood’s all alone. He’s kind of glad because that would mean no more annoying Bats trying to fucking stop him from getting a little too rough, but, he won't break his promise. He won't kill anyone. Yet.

He passes by a nightclub and stops a bunch of harassers from attacking this young boy, who is carrying a wad of cash in his pocket and wearing smudged lipstick all over. His clothes are pretty feminine, but Red Hood doesn't react.

“Thanks.” The boy stutters before running off, and it's then does Red Hood realize the boy’s in heels. He looked downright miserable, and Jason isn't sure if it's because of these assholes he took down, or just the fact that he was working in a nightclub to get money.

“Look eight o’clock clockwise.” He hears Red Robin’s say from the side, as the attackers get back up and take out their weapons – guns and pocket knives – and proceed to fight Red Hood again. Jason follows the younger boy and takes down the enemy coming for him.

“Two more charging.” He continues, and Jason swings his leg at them, making them fall to the ground.

“Behind you.” Tim warns, and to say that Red Hood feels a slight flash of irritation at Tim's observations that Jason himself could obviously sense is an understatement.

“ _Jesus_ , do you ever stop?” He complains, continuing to take down the rest.

“I'm giving you helpful advice.” Red Robin replies.

“Don't really need it right now.” Red Hood admits, taking one of the guns and shooting someone's knee. _No killing doesn't mean no fatal wounds_.

“Sure you do.” He insists. “You always need a logical mind like mine to think clearly and avoid casualties.”

“It'd be much better if you _helped_ me.” Jason says, even though the statement is completely redundant.

"It would but," Red Robin starts. “Watching you is much more entertaining.”

Red Hood looks to the side and gives Red Robin – whose facial expression is very amused, that smirk of his back again – an incredulous look. He knows that the last opponent standing in front of him is confused with Red Hood’s words and actions, as if he's talking to someone not there, but he doesn't indulge him and just knocks the guy out.

Red Robin – or, well, Tim, since he's not wearing his uniform, just those casual clothes of jeans and a hoodie – walks over towards the Red Hood as he stares at the fallen bad guys. And–

“You should really tie them up.” Tim suggests.

Jason gives him a dark look, supposedly murderous, but Tim doesn't even look a bit shaken up. “Shut up before I gag you, Replacement.”

Replacement merely laughs.

Tim watches Jason as he ties the men up to a pole nearby, making the knots tight enough to be hard to break through, and gets their guns and knives to add to his arsenal, even though he doesn't really need it.

“You have anything to do after this?” Tim asks.

“Why do you care?” Jason raises an eyebrow at him.

Tim grins. It's not a Tim-smile, but it's a borderline one. “Kind of miss the feeling of watching Gotham from above.”

That saying could go so many ways, but Jason likes to think that he's referring to being on a roof deck or a ceiling. He's about to actually retort and question why doesn't Tim just go there himself, but he doesn’t.

Jason takes off his Red Hood helmet and hooks it to the side when they reach the roof deck of some random building. His domino mask is still on, but he's tempted to remove it just because Tim isn't wearing any. Which isn't reasonable because, no one cares about Tim anyway. Not that they can see him.

It _does_ feel like he's still physically there though, from how a breeze blows and Tim's hair reacts to it, ruffling. He doesn't look fazed though, but he does close his eyes, as if he feels it. As if he wants to.

Jason sits on the ledge while Tim stands by it. Both are looking ahead, but Jason sometimes casts side glances at the boy and not once does Tim look back. It's like Jason isn't even there.

This whole part of Gotham – what they're staring at – is completely empty of vigilantes. Jason wonders why the Bats gave him so much territory to cover, but then, maybe it's their way of giving him space. As if he needs time to cope or something. He internally snorts.

“You know,” Tim suddenly says, and Jason actually groans out loud.

“You never stop talking, do you?” Jason points out. He snorts out loud this time. “Who would've guessed?”

Tim smirks. “There are some things you don't know about me, Jason.” _And never will_ , Jason almost says. He chooses to not voice that out.

“This is the first time we've actually done something peaceful. _Together_.” Tim continues his sentence.

“Hooray?” Jason implies, a bit uncertain.

The younger boy chuckles. “ _Hooray_.” He repeats. His expression turns wistful, all of a sudden, but there are hints of his Tim-smile. Man, when did Jason become such an observant piece of sap? He wonders to himself.

“I actually wanted – expected to be Batman, at some point, you know.” Tim says softly, as if it's a secret.

There are many things Jason can say as a reply to that confession. But, "Didn't we all?” is what Jason says instead.

“Yeah, but,” Jason looks at Tim. “I’ve always, tried denying it. Like, I wanted to become my own person, not a future Bruce Wayne or another Dick Grayson genius. I wanted to be myself.

“I don't know. Those were my hopes.” He gives himself a bitter smile. “At some point, though, I realized, in my heart, I'd always want to be Batman. I wanted to save a life even if I had to sacrifice to do it. I wanted to be as strong as him.

“And then I realized that Bruce wasn't strong. He was just. _Sad_. _Downright constantly miserable_. _Downright constantly shit_ at opening up and expressing his feelings. And, I didn't want to be it. But, I couldn't–” Tim pauses for a breath.

“Couldn't?” Jason asks.

“I couldn't stop wanting to be.” Tim says. “It felt like _my fate_. To be the next Batman, after Dick, before Damian. At least people would rely on me more, I'd be stronger and more responsible and less unstable and. . . .”

“Human?” Jason finishes.

“Yeah.” Tim agrees. “ _Human_.”

They're quiet after that, Tim catching his breath and Jason looking for something to say. He can't find any. He did not expect that speech, and he did not expect to feel so much sympathy for Tim. It's true, there's lots of things Jason doesn't know about Tim, and lots of things that he'll _never get_ to know.

“For what it's worth though,” Jason says. “I wanted to be _Nightwing_.”

Tim laughs at the confession, because it's unexpected, and Jason laughs, too, for the same reason.

"Well," Tim says, when they've caught their breaths and stopped laughing. “Look at how different our futures have become.”

Jason thinks about Tim's death, and Tim's state, and then he thinks about his own death, and his own state. And then he thinks – that has never been a truer statement.

 

 

~::~::~::~ 

 

Tim's death is not something anyone really talks about. Then again, _no one_ in the Wayne manor has ever had the knack of expressing their feelings out loud. Everyone kind of got influenced by Bruce and his emotional-constipated state to keep it all in and take it out in the worst way possible. It's like a reflection of Gotham; Jason would sometimes point out to himself. The city handles things the worst and creates outlets that cause more damage.

Jason’s death, the first one, left a reminder in everyone that would've probably stayed there forever, that at its core, _bad people could do really fucked up things_ , and heroes have no choice but to deal with them. Damian's was showing how far someone can go, can change: from someone bad, to someone good, who _did_ _good_ , in the end, and how it should've been more appreciated. Dick’s revealed to the whole world (literally) that _heroes are not immortal_ , that they won't last forever.

Each event, each death, left a kind of scar of heavy revelation in each one that was still living, a regret and burden that they were forced to shoulder for the rest of their lives. But at least all of them came back to life, be it in some convoluted or fucked up manner.

Tim's though? _Highly unlikely_.

Jason has more than half a working brain to know that coming to Tim's room is a very, _very_ bad idea, but as usual, he doesn't give a flying fuck. He was still a detective, to some extent. He needed to figure some things out, some things that no one would tell him about.

Tim's room is still messy as fuck, his books opened and lying on the desk and his clothes all piled up in one corner beside the trash can; Jason even sees an undershirt on the trash can. The bed is well made though, despite the chaotic mess, but it's not Alfred’s doing, as the butler left the room entirely untouched, so the place smells like dirty socks (and a bunch of other gross smelly things, but mostly that). Jason doesn't turn on the lights because he knows how it'd upset everyone in the house, and he prefers to not meet anyone crying right now, so upon walking inside, he ends up tripping ungracefully on something and nearly falling face flat on the ground. His fall makes a sound, and he hopes it isn't loud enough to catch anyone's attention. Shit. He is such a shitty detective.

Jason gets up and looks back to see what made him fall, and it turns out to be a box, one among the many stacked under Tim's drawers. This one, though, is right out in the open and right smack in the middle of the room. The lid isn't completely on top, too, meaning it was clumsily closed, so Jason kneels and takes off the lid, putting it aside. There's a label on the box – though Tim always labels his boxes, which is a neat thing to do for someone so damn messy, but then, it makes things easier to find – that says “ ** _CONFIDENTIAL: Meant for Tim's Eyes Only_** ” written in black Sharpie, Tim's incredibly terrible handwriting clearly present, the words and letters so close together and connected to the point where the phrase is almost indistinguishable. At least the moon provides enough light for the room.

He looks inside the box and finds countless photos of Batman and Robin, black and gray mixed with red, green and yellow. They're always different pictures, definitely taken without either of them noticing – because Batman would be absolutely against that – and even some of the bad guys they fought. Jason recognizes himself in some of the pictures, but most of them are of Batman and of Dick, in his prime, when he was just starting out as a hero and even Dick in his civvies. He would think it was weird, if he hadn't known of Tim's Flying Grayson obsession – the only poster in his bedroom of the circus act is an answer enough. He wonders if Tim had been onto them from the start, had this weird suspicion that Robin and Dick were oddly similar at the time, and only chose to pursue his suspicions and theories after Jason's death. And to this day, Jason still wonders _why_. Why Tim was always so invested in Batman and Robin, why he decided to help, why he decided to leave his good life behind for this – this life where you are surrendered entirely to the Bat and his desire to stop crime in Gotham, to save Gotham in time of peril. They each had different reasons for becoming Robin, but Tim's had never really made much sense to him.

There's no sound, but Jason senses it because he was still trained by Batman, and looks up to see Tim leaning by the door frame, in his civvies clothing of black pants and red hoodie.

“And I thought _you_ , of all people, had more respect for privacy than even Bruce.” Tim says. “Apparently I was wrong.”

“Replacement, you gotta eventually accept that you aren't always right.” Jason retorts casually, though there are lingers of uncertainty in what he says. His mind is still buzzing with questions.

Jason anticipates Tim to kick him out of the room or chase him with a broomstick or some shit like that. He doesn't. “What brings you to my humble abode?” Tim asks, walking forward. He stops short when he sees that Jason is doing, and answers his own question. “Looking through my pictures? Mom always said that my pictures attracted a lot of people.” He tells Jason. “Said I could make it as a photographer if I really wanted to.”

“And yet you subjected yourself to Bruce’s endeavors of fighting crime.” Jason says. Tim doesn't reply, so Jason presses on further, after a pause. “Why is that?”

Tim takes out a small coin and starts throwing it upwards, easily catching it and flicking it back up again. He briefly looks at the object, but never ponders on it when he gets it, and Jason merely watches as the boy use his mind to conjure up a proper answer. It's a Tim thing to always do something with his hands when he's trying to think.

The thing about Tim, what makes him so unique, is that he didn't. He didn't need Bruce like the rest of them did. Dick lost his family, Jason was out on the streets, Damian was rightfully Bruce's, and Cass had no one else. _But, Tim_? Tim had a family, and he was actually going somewhere with his life. He was going to inherit his family’s wealth, become an Olympic gymnast or an infamous photographer and marry some nice person and settle somewhere far away from Gotham, somewhere safer and cleaner and _better_. And even if his parents would've died, he wouldn't have swayed from becoming something great, in its simpler terms. But he didn't. He gave it all up for Batman, disregarded his fortune and his bright career to work in Wayne Enterprises in the day, to live under the old Manor and become Batman’s _Robin_ in the night. It never made sense to Jason, when he had obtained that information about Tim, on why he had sacrificed so much for Bruce, for Batman, for _Gotham_.  

“I was needed.” Tim finally says, and the coin stops being tossed.

That's an obvious statement, something easily figured out, but Jason detects a deeper meaning behind it, from the way Tim says it, simple, short, _sure_. It's more than an answer: that Batman needed him – it’s an explanation, a _confirmation_ that Tim had a purpose, Tim was _needed_. Nothing from Jason's Intel indicated what Tim ever felt, because he never behaved any stranger than the rest. Tim had always been good at hiding his feelings, which probably made him the most normal out of all of them. And the idea is shocking to Jason, knowing that Tim relied on Bruce on a level different from everyone else, maybe even on a scale and standard that Bruce himself couldn't reach.

Being great didn't mean being needed, and Tim was great, but not needed.

It's hard to not feel some sympathy for the Replacement, now that Jason realizes it.

“So, why _me_?” Jason asks, because that bugs him the most. “It could've been Steph or Cass or Dick, _especially_ _Dick_. So why did you choose me?”

“Because,” Tim starts, and that word sounds like a reason enough. “You get it.” Jason freezes. “You understand the resentment towards _him_.”

 _It always connects to **him** , in the end_. Jason thinks bitterly. But _yeah_ , Jason _does_ get it. And while he might’ve been glad that someone finally understands where he's coming from before, now, in this situation, he just. It feels pointless. It feels sad.

The thing about Tim, Jason discovers, is that Bruce didn't cared enough about him. Bruce grieves, but he _always_ grieves, and he will move on. _Everybody_ does. It's part of human life. Tim is a sad but firm memory, but he was _never_ the center of anyone’s world. No one will try enough to bring him back like what happened with the rest of them. No one loves Tim enough. Not Dick or Steph or Cass or Damian or Cassie or Alfred or even Jason himself, and especially not Bruce.

What makes Tim _so Tim_ is that he loves and loves and doesn't mind _not_ being loved. He doesn't mind not being revived or cared enough. He is so aware of how insignificant he is compared to everyone else that he expects absolutely nothing from anyone. And while Bruce loved him, while at some point, Tim became his favorite Robin, it was only temporary. _It wasn't meant to last_.

It's kind of tragic, Jason realizes, but then, so is the life of Robin. Destined to get the Batman back to safety, and destined to die for Gotham.

Destined to be replaced, and destined to become forgotten.

People only see a mask, after all, not a man.

Not a _boy_.

 

 

~::~::~::~

 

“ _Fuck_.” Jason hisses, as he reaches his bedroom. He automatically falls on the bed, face flat on the pillow, ignoring the fact that he's still wearing his boots, utility belt, and his thick jacket that all make his position feel fucking uncomfortable in favor for a few moments of peace.

It's not working though. He's still throbbing all over from this night’s latest scandal, muscles aching from the workout. It was some normal drug lord that had these oddly trained henchmen that battled like the League of Assassins (Batman suspects that the drug lord was no normal regular one, actually). Of course, the whole Bat family is generally able to counterattack properly, but it was a lack of judgement and even some arrogance on their part that they all got caught off guard by the enemies’ initial weak strength that quickly evolved into something lethal.

They still won. But with some casualties.

The rest of them are down at the Cave, Alfred tending to all their wounds (Damian is the one with the least injuries, because he still beats the shit out of everyone without hesitation no matter who they are). Jason managed to escape Alfred’s clutches, though it's partly because he was so busy taking care of the rest. Jason does know that the butler will eventually come up to give him some proper treatment and a short but _firm_ lecture, but at the moment, he's perfectly content with staying in his soft bed.

The wound isn't that bad, Jason thinks. It's does look pretty nasty, bleeding somewhere on his forearm, and it _would_ stain his sheets, but, he's had worse. Far, _far_ worse.

So this is bearable.

He's about to drift off to sleep, but he sees Tim looking down at him, standing right in front of the side of the bed before he can properly lose conscious. Jason groans. _So much for rest_.

Jason sits up, resting his arms on top of his shoulders, which he pulls up a bit, even if his footwear is still on his feet. Yeah. He should _really_ take those off. “The fuck do you want now?” He demands, taking his boots off.

“What happened?” Tim just says, not answering his question, pointing to his injury.

Jason gives Tim a side glance and a raised eyebrow as he throws his boots somewhere on the floor. They land with a loud _thump_. “Weren't you there?”

Tim shrugs nonchalantly. Well, as nonchalantly as Tim like this can get. “I had an errand.”

Jason can question Tim, but that takes too much energy. “Typical drug lord that didn't have typical henchmen.” He answers. “The rest are being patched up by Alfred downstairs.”

Tim nods, and doesn't mention anything about the others. “You should get that cleaned though.” He says instead.

It's Jason's turn to shrug. “I've had worse.” He says.

They’re both silent before Tim asks, “What's your worst?” There's a look on his face that suddenly appears, like surprise at his own words, and realization that it probably wasn't a good idea to ask. It's true, but this feels so much like the old, sensitive Tim, that Jason feels like indulging him. Wow. He must be really exhausted or fuzzy from slowly losing blood from this wound he's neglecting.

“The _crowbar_.” Jason confesses, after a brief pause. “The marks are still there until now. It was one of the only things that didn't completely heal when I hopped into the Pit.” It was also one of the only things that frustrated him about healing, among many things. The scars that _almost_ killed him were gone, but the ones that really _did_ _do it_? They were still there.

“Does it hurt?” Tim asks, referring to Jason's current bleeding cut _again_.

“Yes.” He admits. “One of them had a dagger that went passed my arm. Could've been worse – least it didn't really impale me. But, still.” He looks down at it. “Dunno if the wound is deep; don't really care either. Hopefully it'll stop bleeding.” But when Tim still hands his bandages and tissue, Jason still accepts it.

“So what's _yours_ , kid?” Jason asks, referring to the wounds, as he wipes the blood off with a tissue, proceeding to wrap the gauze around his arm. It should be enough until Alfred comes.  

Tim sits on the edge of the bed. “Um,” he starts. “I guess the one on my ribs.”

Jason nods, then requests for something stupid and surprising, even to himself. “Can I _see_ it?”

He's partly glad that Tim doesn't react badly, or, _at all_. Instead the boy just takes off his shirt and turns to Jason, sitting up straighter to let Jason get a clear look at his worst injury ever.

The cut doesn't look as bad as it’s meant to be, but it seems to have a permanent lining on Tim’s skin. Maybe what make it painful are the memories it holds, like the crowbar beating marks. The scars just emphasize how badly they're affected by it. Unintentionally, Jason brushes his hands over the line, resting by Tim’s left side. Tim doesn't react to the touch.

“Bad mission?” Jason just suggests.

“Bad _day_.” Tim corrects, almost casually. Then he looks somber. “A stressing and shitty day sometimes leads to . . . _drastic measures_.” He explains. “And it was there.” He adds softly. “And I just, I just wanted a reminder.” He sounds almost ashamed for it. “That I was actually still human, actually still capable of. . .”

Jason doesn't need Tim to continue his statement; he knows where Tim's going with it.

To make things less awkward, Jason takes off his own shirt as well, shrugging his jacket off beforehand. He can feel – he didn't think it was possible, so he's surprised – the light and cold fingertips of Tim. The healed scars don't hurt anymore when they're touched, but Jason still remembers the _feeling_ of the pain, when the crowbar was used to carve reminders on the boy’s body, when they served as a reminder that this torture was only happening because Jason wasn't strong enough to stop it, because Batman wasn't there to stop _him_.

Scars are supposed to be a reminder of strength, that they made it through all despite hardships. But Jason has never felt pride from seeing the wounds that made him realize he was alone, at its core. He doesn't believe that Tim doesn't share the same sentiment.

 

 

 ~::~::~::~

 

To some extent, Tim dying is Jason's fault.

Not that he's reveal it to anyone. And not that said anyone would actually agree with him. His family is made up of good-conscious imbeciles. Except, maybe Bruce. But he's too busy being . . . _himself_ to actually focus on Jason and his claims.

But Jason knows it's untrue. He understands how him and the others are riddled by guilt, and he could be in the same boat (he feels guilty, _definitely_ ), but, he _knows_. It's his fault. At some point.

The funny thing is, no one expected it. And like, generally, you don't _expect_ shit like that. Though. This was different. There was no captured and beaten up status, or a ticking bomb about to go off, or fighting an unbeatable villain. No. They all thought it was just another normal, everyday mission. They all expected to fight the bad guy, win, and go home – _safe and sound_.

They all expected wrong.

Jason admits that it's truly terrifying – to die like that. It's a sign that anyone can go anytime, and everyone will think they'll still see each another as if they know the future.

They don't.

Jason remembers the building Tim was in. It was an abandoned one in Gotham, previously owned by some non-government organization. He often visited the place to just think and remember Tim. Jason recalls that Batman wasn't there at the time, and he snorts bitterly to himself. _Leave it to the Bats to not be there_. He was, if Jason could properly remember, on a League mission, so he had the city be taken care of by his sidekicks (former and current).

The night was relatively normal, all of them supposed to be on patrol. They had even taken claim on certain areas for theirs to watch over. The job was cut short though, when Batgirl alerted them of a hostage situation – sort of – bring caused by Poison Ivy, who was apparently going to use the hostages to subject to her special venom that would convert them to her slaves.

Jason – as Red Hood, at the time – was listening in, able to hack into Batgirl’s communication line with the others to be able to listen in clearly, but not respond. He kind of suspected that Barbara let him, because there was no way he can get through _her_ , of all people.

Ivy had just broken out of Arkham, apparently, and Batgirl had been able to determine what her specific plan was. _How_ , Jason will never know. She sent Spoiler and Blackbat to rescue the hostages in one building, Red Robin to deal with the civilians about to be processed into plant zombies, and Grayson and Robin to go to the greenhouse, where Batgirl predicted the villain would be at. Red Hood decided to follow Tim, because he was closest to him in terms of location, and because Jason would never miss the opportunity to mess with the other boy, mission or no mission.

He managed to follow Red Robin until he reached his destination, deciding to wait on the roof deck a building across to avoid being noticed. Hood was good, being trained by Batman and all, but Red Robin was _better_ (as much as Jason hated to admit it) and he would immediately know that he was being followed.

Red Hood waited as Red Robin entered, expecting to eventually hear the loud crashes of one of Ivy’s gigantic mutant plant falling and shattering the various windows and the screams of the civilians being rescued, but he heard nothing.

Suspicious, Jason fired his grappling gun and entered the building, crashing the window of one of the floor he landed on. Not surprisingly, the place was quiet, it being an abandoned building and all. From Barbara’s earlier orders, he guessed that Red Robin was by the basement, where the mutant tree’s roots were at. Still, Red Hood saw absolutely no signs of life in the whole building, and heard nothing but the sound of own breathing and footsteps as he ran.

When he reached the elevator, he carved an opening on the roof of it and cut some ropes that supported its weight, eventually sending the transportation down as fast as it could. Jason avoided the loud crash that followed when it reached the basement, and opened the doors to the floor and didn't hesitate to continue running. There was a sinking feeling reaching him, as the silence and lack of life in the place continued, and it was so easy to tell that something just wasn't right.

Jason found nothing in the basement but Red Robin slumped on the pillar, sitting down and lifting his head up, and he swore his heart stopped. He rushed over to the hero, and checked for any wounds, only to find none. His uniform was clean, as if he had never even fought. It didn't explain why he was acting as if he was losing conscious, and Jason gently shook him.

“Replacement, hey.” He said, removing his helmet, leaving his domino mask as the only thing covering his face. Red Robin’s head obediently bobbed along with Red Hood’s shaking, as if it has no control.

“ _Fuck_.” Jason hissed, upon checking for the boy’s pulse and feeling only a faint heartbeat. The beats were slowly decreasing, becoming fainter and fainter with each passing moment. He didn't know what was going on with Red Robin until he spotted a shattered syringe laying on the side a few meters away, blue liquid oozing out and spilling on the floor.

 _An antidote? Shit_. Jason thought to himself. _It's probably Ivy’s poison then. Killing him_. And fuck, he didn't have any kind of antidote with him. Even more so if it was a new substance. “ _Tim_?” Jason was saying. “ _Dammit_ , Tim. Don't you _dare_ give up. Don't you dare die.” He knew that Tim wasn't even conscious anymore. That didn't stop Jason from continuing to talk, even if he wasn't there anymore. He didn’t know what else to do.

A few seconds later, and Tim's heartbeat completely stopped. His body was limp as Jason lifted him up and carried him in his arms, fishing out Red Robin’s comm beforehand to contact the others. His voice was heavy and filled with guilt, and he could hear Dick already rushing towards his location, Damian's confused demands on what was happening following behind.

When they contacted Bruce, Jason felt an overwhelming sense of anger, not unfamiliar, but surprising all the same. He did not think it would be triggered by _Replacement_ , of all people. Then again, he was more frustrated that this happened. _Again_. Batman wasn't there, to save his own son, not for the first time, and the biggest unsurprising irony is that, _he wasn't here_. He was _too late_.

Red Robin, leader of the Teen Titans, one of Batman's former sidekicks, died to poisoning, an antidote – they tested later on – that could've cured him lying a few feet away. It would've been more honorable to die through impalement, or a bomb, or a beating. Maybe even through a bullet wound, but that would've been as messy as the rest. But then, there is no real _honorable_ way to dying, because, dying is still _dying_. There's nothing else to it than that.

Red Hood, part of the Outlaws, one of Batman’s former sidekicks ( _regrettably_ ), highly doubted that the boy died painless. But he didn't look it. He actually looked at peace.

Red Hood is the one who carried a dead Red Robin to the Wayne Manor, the rest of the family trailing after him.

Jason Todd is also the one who woke up two weeks later to see a _not-so-dead_ Tim Drake looking out on his window.

 

~::~::~::~

 

It vaguely occurs to Jason that music has never been his thing. And by music, he means classical music. He listens to punk and rock and hardcore and the things in between it, and he can belt out a song from those genres in karaoke occasionally. But like, _classical_? Those wordless tunes that rely all on soft and gentle instruments and no screams or raspy voices? Definitely no.

It _does_ make sense that Tim likes classical music. Each of them has different tastes for genres. Jason plays rock music, Dick listens to workout music (which is the _worst_ , honestly – _everyone_ can agree with that), Damian is apparently into rap and hip hop, Cass likes opera, Steph jams to pop, and Tim adores classical. Jason thinks each of their types reflect on their personality.

However, only Tim _really plays_. It was one of his parents’ wishes – Tim had explained – that their son learn at least one classical instrument, for like, _foundation_ , or some rich term like that, and so, Tim learned the piano.

It's not that Tim is really good. Well, he _is_. Compared to the rest of them, who have never had any lessons or experience with producing music whatsoever. And, he can read notes on a sheet and play it, and he knows his octaves and scales and what note corresponds to the next, but he isn't like, a _professional musician_ or anything. Playing the piano isn't even in his _hobbies_. Everyone knows that.

As for _Jason_ , well. It's an unspoken fact that Jason can also play the large instrument, but he isn't good – especially for someone who never had a professional lesson his whole life, or a piano to practice with back then. He does know how to read notes though, and he only learned because in education he reached that certain point where they teach you an instrument and merely the basics of it. It's purely luck that Jason actually remembers those lessons. He doesn't even go the music room in the Manor often.

He’s still much more decent than others though. But like mentioned earlier, it isn't his thing.

That doesn't explain why he's standing in front of the piano though.

“You are a goddamn _hippie_.” Jason accuses, crossing his arms.

Tim has the gal to look offended. “Excuse _me_?”

“You're _excused_.” Jason retorts, putting his hands on his hips for a moment. “But from your hippie music taste, I'm not sure.”

It’s surprisingly day time, as of the moment, which is rare because they're the Bat-family. They're usually in their civvies at this point, and like, Jason and Tim are – technically – in that form, but it's. Complicated. Red Hood feels just as much as a part of Jason and his being than Tim feels as Red Robin. It's not just another identity that they shift into because of requirement. Maybe Bruce feels the same way, but he's more silent about it.

“What's so bad about my music preferences anyway? And why does that make me a _hippie_?” Tim demands. The sunlight hits him and it shows his scoff clearly.

“Many things.” Jason begins. “For one, classical music. This isn't the _Renaissance_ era or something. We don't need fancy shit anymore. Another,” he raises his finger. “ _Blue Danube_? _Seriously_? It's a _waltz_ song.”

“ _And?_ ”

“ _And_ that song is famous. Totally predictable for someone like you to dig.” Predictable, and yet Jason didn’t expect Tim to make that as his song. Well, his fault for expecting better from the Replacement. “If you're gonna have this piece that's just yours, at least pick something, I don't know, more _sentimental_ and not as famous.”

“And I should be taking _advice_ from _you_ _because_?” Tim asks, crossing his arms.

“Because,” Jason drawls. “I actually know a thing or two about music.”

“Yeah. _Rock_ music.” Tim clarifies. “Classical music is _completely_ different.”

“But you have to admit,” Jason says. “I recommend good songs, don't I?”

“Yes.” Tim grumbles after a moment of silence.

“That's not actually the song, you know.”

Jason raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Why is the book on that page then?”

“Because, asshole,” Tim sighs. “You didn't let me finish finding the page.”

Ah. Makes more sense. But. “So it's not something as bad?”

“Hey, _Blue Danube_ is a great song.” Tim defends.

“Yeah. Reminds me of Brucey’s events. Totally great.” Jason agrees sarcastically. “So what is the song anyway?” He asks afterwards. “From anyone I know? Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, _Bach_?”

“Don't act as if you know any famous classical musician.” Tim scolds. Jason’s about to comment that he knows a key or two, despite being a bit (or incredibly) rusty in the art, but Tim continues. “It's Yiruma.” He answers.

“Yellow what?” Jason asks.

“ _Yiruma_.” Tim repeats, without malice or annoyance. “He's a Korean pianist. Got famous relatively recently.” He exchanges the book on the stand with another one on the shelf when he realizes what he's looking for is not there, and he flips through pages before coming across the one he wants, setting it on the stand.

Jason stares at the numerous black circles and the lines all around. He's getting a headache. “What the fuck, Replacement.” Is all he manages to say. To him, it’s not impossible to play this shit, but. Preferably (luckily) not.

“ _Reminiscent_.” Tim reads the title aloud.

“Sounds sad.” Jason comments.

“That's what it means, Jason.” He says shortly, almost exasperatedly.

Jason scowls. “I knew that.” He says. Then his expression fades. “Play for me?” He requests, in a softer tone. There's no one in the Manor save for them and Alfred, and he's outside watering the plants.

He expects Tim to throw a sarcastic reply, but he doesn't. Instead, Tim nods, and slides to the center of the stool, and then he plays.

Upon hearing the song, Jason makes the distinction that the song reminds him of Tim’s eyes. Strong, but with a hint of melancholy and resign. Bright, but dim, at the same time. Blue – literally and figuratively. All the things that make Tim who he is – who he _was_. It went really well with the atmosphere of the house.

Does he regret insulting Tim constantly? Excessively mocking and teasing him and testing him and being an overall bastard to him? _Fuck no_.

He does regret not doing it enough though. He regrets not spending enough time with the boy. And, now.

There is no more _now_. Not really, anyway.

 

~::~::~::~

 

It's a weird concept. Tim is real, and at the same time, he isn't.

Not that kind of real though. Jason knows that this – _this_ Tim, standing in front of him – is _real_. That he didn't just imagine him out of nowhere because he went insane. (And besides, he isn't even the type to do that. What kind of coping method would that be anyway?)

It is questionable though – Tim really being here. On earth. Walking, floating, _whatever_.

There's no way to prove it though, since Jason's the only one that can see him, and this Tim knows and does Tim stuff. Well, Tim stuff to Jason. It did occur to him at some point that be actually barely knew the kid, despite constantly tailing him. But there isn't much that Jason can do about it, so.

He knows about situations like these. The kind-of-dead kind. They're clearly not the same as metahumans or weird ass magic users or some fucked up shit with voodoo dolls in them. These are like, _ghosts_ or something, Jason isn't really sure. He does know that they come after someone dies, like their spirit remained on earth. It's usually because of some mission or problem they could never get over, and therefore have to accomplish it, even when they're dead.

And this Tim could be a spirit and all that jazz. But he'd still be Tim. Just, _not the really walking on earth kind of one_.

As for the _reason_ _part_ though, well. Jason never questions it, but he does think about it. Why Tim is here.

Jason and Tim both stay at Tim's apartment. It had never been removed, since Bruce still pays for it, apparently. Like he’s still trying to keep an illusion that all hope is not lost. The place is neater than Tim's room in the Manor, but it's still Tim. _Unruly_ , with bits of papers lying here and there, old cases and Wayne Enterprises reports that Tim used to read through in his free time. At least that's the only things messy there. His clothes are all safely tucked in the closet and drawers, newly washed and folded and unused. Forever unused.

They're both lounging by the couch, the TV on but nothing worth paying attention to playing, so it becomes a dull hum of background noise to what Tim and Jason are doing. Which is, essentially, nothing. Yet.

“This is a terrible idea.” Tim protests.

Jason ignores him in favor of dumping the bags of junk food on the table alongside a bottle of alcohol. “Oh, c’mon.” Jason says. “Don't be such a spoilsport. Have a little fun.” He flops down beside Tim, leaning back after popping the cap open. “We found the bombs, stopped Riddler, and brought him back to Arkham. We need to celebrate.”

“You mean _you_ , not _me_.” Tim corrects, giving Jason a look.

The latter waves a hand dismissively. “All I'm saying is that you need to let go every once in a while. And that _I_ ,” Jason takes a shot directly from the bottle. “Need someone to keep my company before this looks like some pity party.”

“Are you sure it isn't one though?” Tim implies, amused.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jason whines, taking out a cigarette and lighting it up. Before Tim makes a move to protest, Jason beats him to it “I'm aware of your non-smoking policy in your place, but frankly, I don't give a shit. And besides,” he blows some smoke out of his mouth. “It's not like you can do anything about it.” _You're not really here, after all_. Jason adds silently.

But since Tim has this weird telepathic ability that's not really a metagene but more of a Tim-gene, he can read (kind of) what Jason's thinking.

“You don't know that.” He says, and it's Tim's special double-meaning sentences.

Jason leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “ _Try me_ , Replacement.” He dares.

If Jason had known Tim more, he would've predicted his reaction. But he realizes that even then, Tim's reaction would still surprise him, whether he'd know the boy or not. Jason expects him to fight back, to indulge Jason and prove him wrong. But he doesn't. Tim slumps back, sighing as he runs a hand through his hair. Jason wonders if Tim feels that.

“Why are you here, Tim?” Jason asks, simple and quiet.

“Am I supposed to be somewhere else?” Tim retorts.

“Yeah, actually.” Jason says. Tim stiffens. “Afterlife, heaven, not on earth, _wherever_.

“And yet,” Jason pauses. “You're here.”

“That I am.” Tim swallows.

“So, why?”

Tim shrugs. He looks at the bottle, and Jason follows his gaze. The older vigilante waits for Tim to do something, like grab the beverage and take a sip, if it's even possible for him to do it at his state.

“You gonna drink?” Jason asks. He knows that Tim drinks, _rarely_ , mostly socially, like Bruce, though he's more of a fan of coffee, since he's a terrible insomnia, but. He drinks, nonetheless.

“I'm no alcoholic.” Tim says.

Jason casually raises his arms in surrender. “Hey, no judging.” He defends. He lowers his hands down. “You never answered the question.”

“Maybe I don't want to.” Tim says shortly, standing up and walking away.

By then, Jason should leave it. Dick definitely would. Steph can gauge him into talking, because he cares about her a lot. Same with Cass, though in her own quiet way. Damian clearly wouldn't give two shits. But he isn't any of them. Jason is Jason. And Jason does _not_ fucking back off.

So he stands up and follows Tim, who walks around his apartment almost anxiously, like he's trying to leave but he can't.

“I'm not giving you a fucking choice.” Jason says, stern as he blocks Tim from entering his room.

Tim huffs in frustration, looking like the Tim he knows when the younger one glares at him. “What're you gonna do ‘bout it, huh? _Kill me_? Well that's already been done for you!” He exclaims, turning away and heading another direction.

When Jason sees Tim walk towards the door, he makes a quick, not-thought-out decision. He doesn't consider how the dynamic of this Tim and his “ _conditions_ ” work, but since he's walking out like a normal person and not like the fucking Manhunter and density shifting, Jason reaches out to grab Tim's shoulder, and his hand goes right through him.

They both freeze at the movement. Jason is quick to pull back, but Tim turns to him and there's an angry expression on his face.

“ _Fine_! You wanna know why I'm here?” Tim snaps. “I'm here because I can't move on! Because I died and I did it unprepared, unexpectedly, which, yes, should be expected because it's death but.” Tim softens a bit, and angry tears start to form. “I still had stuff to do. I still have people to see. I still have to get my closure.”

“The fuck you think _I_ felt?” Jason demands. “When I came back here, alive, I was clueless, upset. But I didn't go pull all this shit when I died. I didn't make things more complicated for you.”

“That's because you didn't have to know.” Tim protests.

“Know what?”

“If they still cared. If they really _loved_ you.”

There's a large gap of silence before Jason speaks. “ _Congrats_ , Replacement.” Jason says, slowly starting to sound awfully sarcastic. He claps with the same tone, too. “You have officially known what it's like for people to move on. For them to forget you, to _replace_ you.”

Tim sniffs. “ _Shut up_.” He says, but he doesn't sound firm about it. He sounds resigned. 

Jason has stopped being an asshole, but only because he's made his point clearly. Tim's calming himself down, and Jason wonders when both of them got so fucked up. Or maybe if they were always like this and playing hero just harnessed it.

Jason leans and his hand reaches out, wrapping his arm around Tim's bicep and pulling him in a hug, Jason falling on his ass and Tim on his lap. Immediately, Tim relaxes into his touch, accepting the action rather than refusing it. Jason can feel the taunt of muscle and the body of a normal person, of Tim. Maybe this state is more complicated than he thought. He'd probably have to look into it sometime.

The hug is firm, strong. Jason really puts effort into the action, since he's shit at making people feel better. He didn't initially expect to do this, and. He wonders if this is what Dick feels when he embraces his brothers or gets them in a playful headlock. Jason understands why Dick always holds onto them so tightly, like they're lifelines and letting go would mean letting go of them.

Jason holds onto Tim tightly because he's scared that if he lets go then Tim will go.

After a while, Jason thinks Tim's fallen asleep, his breathing calm and his body not loving anymore, but then he surprises Jason by asking, in a quiet, almost scared voice, “Are we forgotten now?”

Jason's hand squeezes Tim in attempt to comfort. “Maybe.” He looks down at Tim. “But that's why we remember each other.”

He likes the sound of that.

 

~::~::~::~

 

The first time Jason's seen Tim cry is when he's already dead and in some ghost kind of form. To this day, Jason still tries to not ponder on what Tim is, but _who_ he is. _Was_. Whichever.

This kind of crying is the full-on sobbing. It's not frustrated tears falling down. It's a total breakdown, with the impossible notion of ever calming down. It's different from the fight they had before. Tim cried, but he was quick to stop himself, so Jason doesn't really count that as a good cry. Not enough emotions were released. There are still a shit ton of bottled up feelings left inside the younger boy.

Tim says he wants to visit the graveyards and Jason doesn't initially get why he told him that. Until Tim gives him a look that makes Jason realize, _oh, he wants me to go with_. The latter had merely shrugged and obeyed Tim's request, and now they're at the graveyards, Jason mentally checking a tally for the number of times he's been here. Maybe he’ll get brownie points for visiting a bit more than supposed to.

On the way there, he had passed by a chili dog stand and got one. Tim had turned Jason down when he offered, and Jason wondered if it was because he didn’t eat or just wasn't hungry.

There's something immediately different when they both reach the graveyards that is strictly for the Wayne’s, Jason notices. He isn't close enough to properly see it, not yet anyway, but he can sense it. _Bat-sense_ it. Tim probably senses it, too, because he picks up his pace, walking ( _floating_ , Jason isn't sure, Tim's feet look firmly planted to the ground, but he walks like he's made of air – and maybe he is) a bit quicker.

Jason catches up to Tim only to find him kneeling on the ground, in front of their graves. Jason searches, and he finds nothing weird or different with Damian's, his own, and–

 _Oh_.

Tim kneels in front of his gravestone – newly renewed gravestone, no longer cut in half and wrecked, but brand new, with more words carved into it than just “ _Here Lies Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne_ ”. Besides that, it says, below, “ _Fantastic Friend; Beloved Brother; Special Son_ ”. Jason can already tell who suggested all those descriptions. ( _Dick, Jesus Christ_.) It’s kind of funny, hard to take seriously, but.

It's a start.

Tim starts to sniffle, and it sounds an awful lot like that time he had some sort of angry turned upset mental breakdown at his old apartment, and Jason tenses a bit, looking at Tim. But Tim isn't starting to cry because of the carvings. He hasn't even looked up yet.

Jason moves forward and peers, seeing that Tim is holding onto a piece of paper, folded, with a crease at the center, now opened. Jason recognizes that handwriting. It's Bruce's.

“ _Tim_ ,” it says. “ _I've never been good with words, even after all of this. It could be part of the reason why I lost so many of you, or maybe its other things. Things we all know, but don’t talk about._

 _There are many things I wanted to say to you, many things I wanted to do with you, normal things. There are many things I've always wanted to do with all of your siblings and you, but was just never able to do. Back then, I wondered if I was depriving you of your childhood, but you never seemed to mind it. It kind of made me feel relieved, because I thought I was doing a decent job at it._ Parenting _._

_It’s hard to tell, because I am terrible at showing it, but I knew what you were going through. I understood that you were going through the pressure of not being good enough, especially after what first happened with Jason. I knew of how you were easily cast aside as Robin when Damian came, and I hate that I never did anything about it because I thought Damian would always be like that. I knew that you had to take on the mantle of Robin because you wanted to help, even if it meant being under the shadow of Jason for so long, and even as Red Robin, which was Jason's temporary name back then. I understood that you had to do the work I did as Bruce, when I was not there. And how you always trained yourself to be something that wasn't just the shadow of Robin, or Red Robin, or a Wayne, but something greater._

_I guess what I've been meaning to say is, in shorter words, you were more than Robin, or Red Robin, or Tim Wayne, or even Tim Drake. You were yourself, even at death. It was always up to you on who you wanted to be. It's my fault for never saying it._

_I will always be_ proud _of you no matter who you choose to be. And you will_ always _be my son. A part of_ my _family._

_Sincerely,_

_Bruce._

_P.S. Dick says_ hi _, apparently, though I'm sure he’ll eventually write something soon_.”

The first time Jason's seen Tim cry is when he's already dead and in some ghost kind of form. It is also, the last. And only.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Kon visits Tim's grave one time, and it's the one thing Jason doesn't expect at all.

And like, Kon probably does this numerous times, but Jason just isn't there to actually see it. Right now, Jason's talking to the stone which is being sat on by Tim himself about love lives (kind of), like it’s a totally normal conversation and Jason is totally talking to a person that's actually there.

And Tim is there, but.

No one knows it but Jason.

So, Conner is something entirely unexpected, so even with Jason's bat-senses, he's still shocked to see the Superboy. Tim's buried in Gotham, and Batman’s no-metahuman rule still stands, but at this point, none of the Titans actually care about Batman and his stupid rules.  

“I swear to God I will stab Dick if he ever tries to hook me up with someone ever again.” Jason whines.

“Again?” Tim echoes.

“Dick thinks getting laid is essential so I'd stop being so uptight.” Jason explains. “Probably thinks it's one of the reasons I'm batshit crazy and like this – ‘cause of tension. He should be approaching Brucey, I swear.” He leans on his heels. “And like, I can't bring the demon spawn into this. He's like – eleven, though I know that won't stop Dick in a few years. He just can't get in his head that Damian and me do not need girlfriends to feel better.”

“Damian and _I_.” Tim corrects.

"Fuck off." He waves a hand. “I didn't finish school, okay? Sue me for shitty grammar.”

“Aren't you poor though?” Tim asks. Jason's glares at the boy in a threatening way that just makes Tim laugh.

“Shut up.” Is all Jason can grumble in retaliation.

“ _Ahem_.” It's a cough that gets Jason's attention, and he turns around to see fucking _Kon_ , standing there with his hands in his pockets and a nervous look on his face. He walks towards him nonetheless. “Bad timing?” He inquires, nudging towards the grave, even though he probably can't see the boy sitting on the broken stone.

“Not really.” Jason admits. “I was just, uh,” _God_. He did _not_ anticipate Tim's best friend coming here, especially at this time, so he doesn't really know what to say. “ _Leaving_.”

“You don't have to.” Kon says before Jason can actually turn his heel. “I mean, I can tell you don't want to, so. Its fine, you know. I – I don't mind.” He says.

And, okay. Jason was definitely not anticipating that either. Still, he's doesn't feel like taking Conner up on his offer, be it because of a sense of awkwardness because – they've never actually interacted before, or like, ever – or just out of respect because, it's a _visitation_. So he just waves a dismissive hand and walks away, making sure to keep moving as long as Kon’s eyes remain on him. Then he stays by a corner and waits, deciding to listen in because, well, he's Jason. It does occur to him at some point that Kon’s superhearingis able to sense him and hear his heartbeat, but Conner shows absolutely no indication that he cares, from how he's still staring at the grave. Tim doesn't follow Jason, instead staying in the exact same place he was at.

“Hey, Tim.” Jason hears Kon start. He peeks out of his hiding spot to look at the metahuman. “It's been like, what, almost half a month since I visited? Sorry for that – Cassie’s _super_ strict and all and insists that we spend time with one another more. Probably her way of trying to make up for . . . you know.” He lets out a breath. Jason feels like he's intruding already, but he doesn't make a move to leave.  “You know, I don't think I ever thanked you enough for everything you did. Heck, I don't think _any_ of the Titans did. It's probably our biggest regret.” Tim's looking at him with a blank expression on his face, one that Jason recognizes to be the one where he tries and holds his feelings inside to keep them from spilling over.

“Mine isn't that though.” Kon continues. “I actually regret not offering to go hang with you anymore, not spending enough time with you – as _Tim_. Not Red Robin.” When Kon lets out a breath again, Jason knows it’s shaky – maybe trying not to cry. “ _Fuck_.” He says with frustration. “And I just can't help but wonder, are you okay?  Are you mad at us, for not being there? Are you somewhere better than here? Are you happy?” Conner clenches his fists. “Do you _miss us_ like _we do_?”

He pauses, as if he expects an answer, but there is only silence. Kon sighs, resigned, but expected, and he wipes the tears accumulating in his eyes. “I think the Titans are going on some intergalactic mission tomorrow, so I don't know when we’ll be back – _if_ we’ll be back. So I wanted to come back here one last time before I go.” He admits. “You know, out of all the regrets I've had, my biggest one is not telling you _I love you_.”

When Conner leaves, missing Jason and his presence completely, the latter walks back to the grave. Tim is still standing in the same place, not moving an inch since Superboy left. Jason stands right beside him, but looks straight ahead at the stone.

Jason doesn't expect Tim to talk, but Tim is always full of surprises. Alive or not alive. “You think he would've seen me?”

It's such a strange question to ask. Especially to Jason, because. When he was dead, this never happened. There was no lingering presence or spirit that roamed the world when he wasn't there to walk on it. At least, he doesn't remember it being that way. And Jason's not the one dead right now. Shouldn't Tim be able to answer his own question, if Jason himself is able to see him?

But maybe he isn't capable of it. Maybe he doesn't know. There are many reasons as to why Tim can only be seen by Jason, why Jason is the only one who knows Tim's current status and profession at the moment – ghost stalker, literally – but Jason isn't really sure about any of them. He knows Tim isn't either.

But. Tim requires an answer, and while Jason isn't the genius that the third boy wonder was, he could at least try. “That depends on you.” He replies.

“I wish he could.” Tim says.

“And then what?” Because Jason is bad at comforting, but not at questioning, _inviting_ – relatively.

"And then," Tim pauses. “Maybe.”

The finality isn't unnoticed, but it isn't accepted. Not to Jason, anyway. “That makes absolutely no sense, Replacement.”

“Maybe he would've known.” Tim continues, but that still isn't enough.

“Known what?” The other boy urges.

“That I still _love him_.” Tim confesses, hands clenching the same way Kon's did, only, there's more desperation to it.

“Then why are you telling me that?” Jason asks, and Tim gives him a sad smile. They say nothing for a while.

Then, “Being in love sucks.”

At least there's no malice to it, Jason thinks to himself with relief. There are no remnants of bitterness or spite towards Kon like the rest of the important people in Tim's lives.

Jason takes out a cigarette and lights it, and, for the first time, Tim does not get angry for doing so, even in front of his grave. “Understatement of the century, man.”

" _One last time_ , huh.” Tim mutters suddenly, maybe supposedly to just himself. Jason knows what he's referring to, but there feels like there's another meaning to it. The next day, he gets his answer.

The next day, Tim is gone. And the thing is,

 _He doesn't come back_.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Jason always forgets that he's the only one who can see Tim. Who _could_ see him. Sometimes, Jason even forgets he's _dead_.

And then he remembers. It's actually hard to forget. But Jason never stays at the Manor, despite deciding to officially move back in when it was clear that his family was going to fall apart (and while he hates his family, they're still his) without a stable support. It’s hard for that fact that Tim is really gone to come to mind when he avoids seeing the distraught faces of the residents as much as possible. 

Especially when he sees that boy almost all the time.

 _Before_ , of course.

Now, he can feel the emptiness and much heavier brooding around the house, something he didn't really comprehend with Tim constantly by his side. Now, it's like he's getting a view of what the rest were feeling back then, and even until now.

Jason wakes up and Tim is not there creepily staring at him or messing with his stuff. It's not something odd, because he doesn't see Tim until the afternoon or night or so, but even as the day passes, Tim doesn't come. Still, it doesn't disturb him, and he continues doing what he usually does – patrol, hang out with Roy and go on jobs with him, kick some bad guy asses, spy on Damian during his acting classes, annoy Dick or Barbara, avoid Bruce, steal the first batches of food from Alfred – as if there's nothing odd going on in his life.

Visiting the graveyards is something Jason doesn't do often. He's pretty sure the between the time period from Tim's death to now, he’s only been there five times (and two of those was his death day and resurrection day). He knows unconsciously his reasons as to why he doesn't go there as often (Dick goes there every two weeks), but he doesn't want to acknowledge the emotions that emerge when he stares at all the _what ifs_ in the form of stones with engraved letters.

At some point though, it gets quite lonely. Tim not being there to annoy him constantly and unconsciously beg for his sarcastic remarks makes Jason edgy and kind of . . . empty. Everyone is too fucking depressed to handle Jason, and even his friends tread on careful waters when around him. Was it like this when he died? He wants to ask.

It's already the fifth day that Tim hasn't showed up yet, and Jason is getting more angsty. He decides to distract himself by spying on Demon Spawn, because, you know, he is surprisingly the least unbearable one in a house full of moping zombies.

There's this pretty girl there talking to Damian as they move around in her living room – probably her living room, since it's probably her house – and make weird hand gestures, and while the window he's crouching in front of (he's staying by a tree) doesn't make the sounds inside clear, he can hear Damian's formal and completely irritating voice boom. They're both holding a piece of paper – a script, Jason realizes – and Damian recites the words he's reading aloud.

Jason recognizes it to be Shakespeare, from how weird Damian pronounces his words that barely make sense to him, and he thinks it's from a familiar play, though he can't certainly name what – Jason knows Shakespeare, but knowing is different from recognizing his works.

When Damian seems to be finished, the girl in front of him claps happily, and he scratches the back of his neck, looking awfully sheepish and wow, Jason had to get an image of that for potential blackmail in the future.

Damian immediately freezes and looks his way when Jason snaps a picture, and– “Fuck. That's my cue.” Jason tells himself as he disappears before Damian really spots him.

Fortunately, the brat doesn't pursue him. Jason grins to himself. He's got to show Roy, Dick and Tim this when he gets to them.

 

Jason doesn't go to Tim anymore.

Well, it's not that he didn't. It's just. He can't. It only occurred to him just as he was already searching that he doesn't even know where the fuck Tim goes to when he's not with Jason, assuming he goes anymore and doesn't just, fade from existence until next time or something.

He goes to Roy instead, and Roy laughs and then rolls on the floor. He's definitely drunk, and while Jason could join him, he decides against it and proceeds to Bludhaven, because he really has nothing else to do. And sparring with Cass back at the Manor doesn't sound so appealing at the moment. 

Jason finds Dick in his apartment, apparently on a break from his secret spy mission since he's back here. He doesn't immediately make his presence known though, wanting to sneak around and see what Dick’s doing before telling him anything.

Dick slowly paces around his room, staring at the objects in front of him and spread across the shelves that lean against the many walls. It takes Jason a while to figure out that what Dick is looking at aren't just objects – but they're pictures, to be specific, framed and in high quality and well-taken care of.

“Jason?” Dick suddenly asks, because he is still a Bat.

Jason appears and walks towards Dick, unashamed for sneaking in, but curious as to what Dick’s doing. “Hey, Dickie bird. You're back.” He says. Dick turns around and continues looking at the pictures, and Jason takes this as an open invitation to look around. The first Boy Wonder’s apartment had always been half-messy and half-neat, neat like Jason’s and Damian’s (it was shocking that among all five of the children, those two were the neatest), and messy like Tim’s. At least it isn’t as dark as the Manor, the windows reflecting a light that feels serene and not as if they were coming from a funeral.

Jason peers at what Dick’s looking at – the pictures – and he recognizes some of those.

They're pictures of the family, candids and expected ones. One of them is an image of Dick and Alfred talking in the kitchen, Dick animatedly telling a story while Alfred cooks. Another is of Jason – during Thanksgiving – arguing with Bruce across the table while flicking the food at Dick. That was one of the rare times that Jason actually had fun. Of course, it ended terribly, Jason storming out of the house and shooting a plant (he was drunk), but at least it started decent.

The other pictures were of the different family members – Damian onstage, performing his lead role in a play at school, Cass and Steph baking Barbara’s birthday cake and fucking it up (Barbara was laughing at the side), Bruce reading a bunch of papers (a case report) in the library, Jason buying something in the bakery, enjoying the bit of domestically that was rare to get, and Dick and his friends from the police department. Jason realizes that these pictures couldn't have been taken by any of them but Tim, since they're all shit photographers, and Tim is the only one who's never there. Almost.

There is one picture though – and it's the whole family. Jason recognizes it as last year’s Christmas party, all of them on the couch, the picture being taken by someone unknown. They were all wearing stupid Santa hats, Bruce at the center, keeping a stern but fond and relaxed expression, Dick smiling brightly as he wrapped his arms around Barbara, standing behind the sofa, Jason sitting on the armrest beside Alfred, who was standing up. Damian was pouting as held Alfred the cat, since he was put beside Tim, who was wedged between the youngest and Cass, Steph at their feet, petting Titus. They looked like they had their shit together – more or less, as if they weren't a bunch of screwed up Batkids with complicated lives and had strained relationships. They didn't look spoiled or snotty – they looked just like themselves, and while not everyone was smiling, it was easy to say that they were happy. At least for that moment. Jason actually felt a bit sad at that.

Dick picks up the picture and his finger strokes Tim's face there. He looked awfully shy, pliant and content. His eyes still shone the same kind of sad though.

“Is there any picture besides that that Tim _didn't_ take?” Jason asks. Dick sets the picture down and heads towards his coffee table, Jason following suit as the first gets a book under and brings it to his lap, flipping through the pages of the scrapbook until he lands to a certain one.

In both pages, there are four pictures. And they all have Tim in it. Tim typing something in his laptop, on the counter, while everyone else was having a food fight (Alfred was out that day), Tim building a snowman with Dick, Tim training with Jason in Titans Tower, and Tim smiling fondly to himself as Kon and Cassie talk. Dick leans on Jason's shoulder when the latter scoots closer, and neither of them pull away, despite the hesitation and tension in them that looms over them.

Jason stares at the images, taking in Tim's fond expressions and matching it with the Tim he knew, and the Tim after. Maybe Dick always saw Tim as someone else, someone different from what Jason or Damian or Cass or Steph or Barbara or Bruce saw him as. Maybe that applied to everyone about each other, Jason isn't sure.

“I miss him.” Dick says. And while his voice is muffled from his emerging tears and how he's burying himself in Jason's shoulder, the words and meaning and feelings are as clear as day.

At least, Jason thinks, no matter how people saw Tim as, he is _still_ Tim. He is still _someone_ , someone missed dearly. “Yeah.” He finds himself saying. “Me, too.”

 

~::~::~::~

 

There are ghosts that lurk in the Manor, Jason notices. Not real ghosts, though he isn't doubting their existence in the slightest. But _metaphorical_ ones.

They've been there from the start, in the form of memories, mostly, lost chances, possibilities, fading emotions. It's probably what makes the Wayne Manor as it is now. The weight of what was once there attaching itself and spreading across the whole place.

It's a different kind of ghost, but it gives Jason the same feelings as Tim did. If Tim really was a ghost. (He sure seemed like it.)

Jason finds himself wandering the mansion, just like he did before, only, in daytime. He's sure that there are people there at the moment, but so far he's run into none of them, and to say he's a bit grateful would be an understatement. He lives with them, now, but that doesn't mean he wants to be with them.

(It occurs to him later on that the statement makes no sense.)

He ends up searching for lost ghosts that look a lot like Tim, even though he is no medium, and he knows that the things that feel like Tim, are things left of him that were once alive. (That ghost Tim, in Jason's eyes, doesn't count as something once alive, but dead. The entire time.)

He does know what he's looking for though, and it's so hard to find it when he doesn't even know where to start, when the way to find what he's looking for is through the effort of someone not him. And Jason has always been terrible at controlling things that aren't him.

He finds himself back in the music room, because he's always been drawn to it. Others were drawn to the music, once, but him: it's the silence. It's the ghosts.

And it's just. Jason never thought it would be this hard. Looking for Tim. Maybe it's because he never had to, before. Tim just always came to him, on some days when he didn't like it. On some days when he did. The boy did as he pleased, kind of like Jason. Perhaps that was why Jason never minded it. Why he never tried on his part.

Until now.

There's a part in Jason that kind of wishes that alongside finding Tim, he can also find why the fuck does he care so much. Because, that had never happened before, on such a large scale like now.

But he is aware of the answer even from the start, though he doesn't really want to acknowledge it. Jason is restless without hearing something from Tim, seeing something or feeling something from him. Without a proper goodbye, or farewell, or _warning_ about what spiritual shenanigans he's about to do next.

And Tim has _no right_ to inform Jason of such things, but that doesn't mean Jason doesn't feel _entitled_ to them.

 _Jesus fuck_ , all he wants is a last sign.

_And there it is._

An opened music book, sitting on the stand of the piano. Right on the page that shows a song that makes Jason smile. Because, _fucking Tim_.

 

~::~::~::~

 

Alfred wakes up as early as he usually does – which is way before anyone else wakes up – to prepare breakfast for his family. He fixes himself up and heads to the pantry and refrigerator for the raw food he's going to cook, and is reminded about breakfast for Damian's pets when Titus snuggles his head against the butler’s shoe. Alfred the cat is definitely in Damian's room then.

By the time he finished, he sets the table along with the food, mindlessly petting Titus right after as he hands him his food, before proceeding out of the dining room and towards the hallways with the bedrooms to wake up everyone.

He passes by the calendar and takes a quick glance, noticing a special note marked for today. Alfred’s expressions turns a bit sober, and he gently brushes his fingers against the writing, and when he pulls his hand back, the ink remains on his fingertips and the text is smudged.

Alfred makes a mental note to himself to visit later, after all his chores are done, and maybe if he can convince Bruce to do the same, though it may be unlikely.

He first knocks on Dick’s door, since last night he decided to stay for two nights because of the special occasion. Cass and Steph decided to do the same for the week, arriving five days ago. While Dick doesn't answer, Alfred leaves it at that, but at least Cass does, nodding and gesturing to Alfred that she and Steph (they both crashed in Cass’ room). Damian doesn't come out of the room, but the door slightly opens and Alfred the cat slips out and snuggles against human Alfred, so that means Damian's now awake.

Alfred takes the tray carrying tea and heads down to the Batcave, knowing that Bruce would be there because he's Bruce, and there's no way he'd be in his bedroom on a day like this, especially on a day like this.

Bruce doesn't even bat an eyelash when the butler sets down the drink, more focused on the cases he's rearranging and reading, but Alfred does clear his throat, making Bruce give a look at him.

“Might I suggest you go up and join them to some breakfast?” Alfred says. “They may enjoy their presence for the start of the day, especially on a day like this.”

“I'll see.” Bruce says, turning back to the screen.

Alfred stops him from continuing though, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder, making Bruce look at him once more. “It's highly suggested, Master Bruce. You cannot hide here in the Cave forever.” He says. “Eventually, we will all have to move on. But that does mean we cannot do it together.” Then he leaves, content with his little speech, knowing that Bruce would make the right decision.

It does occur to Alfred that Jason’s in the Manor as well, and he curses at himself mentally for forgetting. He's about to head to the second oldest’s room, but passing by the music room, he stops short upon hearing something. Something _familiar_. A _melody_.

Alfred recognizes the song, and he knows everyone else in the house does to. Alfred does not knock on the door, instead smiling to himself as he walks back to the kitchen, instead of going to Jason’s room, joining his now-awoken family in the dining room, pleased with the lightened atmosphere that has arrived. The first year anniversary feels a lot less gloomy now.

The song is Tim's. And _Jason's_ playing it.

There's so many things that the song Jason’s playing says. It says _sorry_ , _I love you_ , _thank you_ , more meaningful and sincere things in the form of vibrations messed with beautifully, meant to represent all the things Tim was never able to say, but _feel_.  

(And somehow, Jason feels the ghost of the memory of a boy, younger and brighter than he is, than he would've _ever been_ , sitting on this same stool Jason's at, playing the piece to set the mood of Cass’ and Stephanie’s laughter as the two chat on the carpet floor, Damian drawing on his sketch pad on the sofa, Bruce beside him, trying to catch up on some sleep. Dick is by the window, talking animatedly to someone on the phone – Barbara definitely – and outside the room: Alfred, listening to the different harmonies of notes and laughter and talking and pencil against smooth paper, enjoying the fact that this, _this_ is his family, at its best, and he wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.

And somewhere, out of the music room, out of the house, is Jason, only hearing Tim's song amidst all the noises, not bringing himself into their domestic circle, but appreciating it. _Appreciating Tim_.

Appreciating the family he could've had – _has_.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed it :) feedback and comments are incredibly needed and appreciated.
> 
> hit me up on [tumblr](http://gaytropes.tumblr.com/) if you wanna talk about the robins, or comics, generally. or my other fandoms if you're into them as well ;)


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